


Motley Infection

by fuchsverse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia Martin, Dark Lydia Martin, Dark Peter Hale, Dark Stiles Stilinski, Eternal Sterek, F/M, Gen, M/M, Nogitsune, Nogitsune Trauma, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuchsverse/pseuds/fuchsverse
Summary: It was a massacre, pure murder of one's own humanity and yet so full of hearty laughter that one would have liked to throw up. Pack means family. Family means loyalty and cohesion. Disgusting beauty in its purest form.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Lydia Martin, Peter Hale/Lydia Martin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Motley Infection

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Kunterbunte Infektion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219844) by [fuchsverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuchsverse/pseuds/fuchsverse). 



> [written in 2015]  
> Info: What is this? Let's call it a bad trip. Colourful interjection. A way to process my feelings that I can no longer control. What is this bad joke part of? It's based on "ᵈᶤᵉ Zärtlichkeit ᵈᵉʳ ᵛᵉʳᵈᵃᵐᵐᵗᵉᶰ", but you don't need to know my project, I don't think, as everyone is left confused anyway; including me. [I may continue the project at some point, it is currently lying unfinished].   
> This is an image that has grotesquely burnt itself onto my retina. It is a deranged screening that kept me up at night. A monstrosity that never happened like this, but has been lived through thousands of times. A nightmare that is perhaps more real to our protagonists than we think.  
> It's absolutely woozy, frantic, frenzied. Sorry. Emotions had to come out, consuming me.  
> I'm done with my nerves; absolutely done.  
> Even though it looks like it, my story doesn't leave me unaffected; after all, I'm too emotional for this crap.  
> Truly, I am most likely suffering as much as all readers, or even more.

_„Love is just a way to die“_   
_\- I am Strikes -_

**Motley Infection**

_"And they danced samba; samba all night long."_

It was a massacre, pure murder of one's own humanity and yet so full of hearty laughter that one would have liked to throw up.  
The crowns of flowers were covered in the purest red, throned infinitely askew on the heads of their wearers in all their grandeur and became one with a matted, partly lumpy soup called hair.  
 _Magnificent._  
A mass of somehow burgundy and now already dried bodily fluid, it had poured over them and long exceeded its ridiculously short soaking time.  
Encrusted on their skin for what felt like an eternity, it distorted their otherwise angelic faces into the ugliest grimaces anyone had ever seen.   
_They would have to scrape it off, tear the top layer of fleshy facade from their bodies._

No one knew how long they had been spinning in circles, but the pack danced; moved in morbid ecstasy to that melody that existed only in their heads.  
The children had to be careful, as their springy movements kept leading them over that slippery pool that stained the whole floor; made it slippery.  
 _They were among themselves; they let themselves fall._  
Twisting and turning, bones almost bursting, magically reassembling.  
A locked door and that family that had never been closer and at the same time more distant than at that moment.  
The pack began to exist in the most deviantly pure form that existed in this world.  
Simple yet complex.  
Beastly.  
 _Deadly._

Stiles had stopped breathing.

Eyes wept red, making Lydia sway and claw at the lump of living flesh closest to her at that moment.  
 _Wolf._  
Peter grinned, buried his nose in the greasy hair of his adored dancer and pressed her body, sticky with sweat, against him.  
They spun each other in circles, seeming to merge completely; to breathe each other.

Scott said no more, had sunk to the floor with the puppy beside him only a few blinks ago and needed a break that could last several winters.  
Breath rattled as he just stared dumbly at those two tightly entwined figures, scratching his tattoo bloody as if in a trance.  
Again and again; to the bone.  
Isaac beside him rocked back and forth in rapid movements, chewing his fingers and forgetting to blink.  
 _Was underutilised._  
The boy's bare feet had wrapped around his alpha's legs, chaining McCall to him.  
His confused gaze was also on the near caresses he could make out behind the shifted hospital bed.  
Lydia, in all her grotesque beauty, was pressed against Peter and at any moment, could have been a feast.  
Hale's claws were so close to her carotid artery that Lahey had to lick his lips.  
He could not avert his eyes, they attracted him like a moth to a flame.   
The banshee of the pack looked like a queen, the crown of flowers being the sullied crown that was rightfully hers. She deserved Peter in all his perversity, was not even capable of surrendering to the light. Darkness attracted her, Lydia created her hell personified.  
He was her king; that overgrown toenail that hurt more with every step.  
Symbiosis.

"Dance with me again," Isaac murmured too softly, pulling the alpha back to his feet in the same breath.  
Scott swayed, out of it.  
Lahey, however, felt the need to rejoin the two cruel aristocrats, to become one with them.  
His companion, however, seemed like a gurgling and musty puppet, from whose chin dripped sweat reeking of blood; which in turn banished itself with the pool on the ground.

Almost tenderly, they all floated with bare feet over the cold surface, spreading a work of art in motley uniform red on the laminate that seemed so dull.  
Lydia's smile was fixed, it seemed as if she could no longer move the corners of her mouth properly and was thus trapped in that facial derailment.  
She avoided the glances of the others, not even Peter was allowed to look into her green eyes and enjoy the sight of her.  
She alone allowed him to lead her and perhaps the wolf even knew the honour Martin had given him.   
Isaac was always fascinated, the young pup had not even realised when the two had started dressing and repelling in this way.  
Lydia and Peter were perfection in every way and that realisation hurt.  
Where the royal couple seemed invincible, everyone else was close to death and each of them knew it.

_Scott._

The young leader had lost his beauty the second Stiles had slid to the ground.  
Now the wolf was simply the ugliest thing Isaac had ever seen.  
Pathetic and grimaced in a way that made one's bile rise.  
Empty eyes were bearable, but that wide grin that never left his lips was worse than anything else.  
More mendacious than that giggle Lydia let out when Peter made her twirl quickly in circles.  
Isaac wanted to throw up, was too inattentive, and only realised in the fall that they had slipped.  
Above him Scott, the corner of whose mouth he had insisted on pulling open and now regretted.  
His dance partner grinned at him; yet disgusting tears welled up from his reddened eyes.  
 _The banshee's voice was far too shrill._

Stilinski's hospital room was devastated and only the ticking clock witnessed those abominations that a lost pack was capable of.  
Stilinski's eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling, distorted with pain.  
They had ripped out his heart, presented it to Derek on a silver plate.  
Now it was his.  
Forever.

They were a pack; a family.  
Everything they shared, even the patheticness of the last breath.  
Lydia's scream was suffocating.  
Mad.


End file.
